Ode to My Combat Boots
Majestic mold, from putrefying waste
Redeemed by the tanner's art
Your host, gone to sate some human taste
While you're recast to play a grander part
How noble stand you now beside my bed
The shaped servant of my striding limbs
Firmed by laces raw that stretch up from your head
That give you strength to serve my many whims
Today your body gleams in polished might
Your soft full lines disguise a courage rare
You follow through the day or through the night
In silent service, you are always there
You are the victim of my will
Reborn to die a thousand times
Tortured, torn, but rising still
As I do rise neath victory's chimes
Yes, you are there in victory or defeat
You test the earth of beggars and of kings
You guard me from the dangers of the street
And carry me aloft on leather wings
A servant, slave, lackey you may be
Drowned, or dried, driven by my call
But fate preserves the basest pain for me
In life so lifted, in death so far to fall.
To our classmates and those who have gone before us... who walked the walk
Jonathan Freed 1955
Ranger School 1956
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